Logs: Geoff, Tim, Cessily
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Thursday, September 25, 2008, 11:20 PM
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=XS= Jean's Office - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
Just another step in the grand tradition of renovation that dogs all great and old houses, Jean's office has been snuck nearly seamlessly into the footprint of the mansion library. Despite the headmistress' taste for clean lines and light colours, rich oak panelling and footstep-muffling carpet in a venerable shade of forest green are the order of the day. Light is freely admitted by a large leaded glass window that looks out over the Victorian garden and its fountain, although hanging curtains in the same emerald as the carpeting can be drawn to turn the room dark enough for presentations to be shown. The central feature of the room is an imposing desk, stained dark to match the paneled walls. A modern ergonomic office chair is positioned behind it, with two uphoulstered chairs in front. A laptop rules the desk, two filing cabinets, several framed diplomas and a bookshelf hug the side wall behind it. One corner holds a thriving ficus plant, and the central piece of art in the office is a framed representation of DNArt, a small brass plaque informing observers that this is the genome of Dr. Jean Grey.
[Exits : [Li]brary]
Thursday afternoon, classes just dismissed, and the lawn of Xavier's School is well-dotted with teenagers of all shapes and sizes and hair colours enjoying some of the last few days of an Indian summer. Their deputy headmistress is not amongst them. Indeed, one Dr. Jean Grey is sitting in her office, back to the leaded glass window as she studies in equal measure the tea cart that sits to one side of the desk, and thirty-something sitting on the other side of it. "Tea or coffee, Mr. Perry? I admit I tend to be more at ease when I have caffeine in easy reach, and I tend to prefer relaxed interviews."
"Of course." Geoff smiles in return, seemingly at ease in the comfortable chair. "Tea, please," he continues after a few seconds, his eyes lighting up at the familiar smell, something he has had short supply off at his previous teaching position in the city. He takes another look around the office, trying to conceal his amazement at the splendour of the place.
Jean's green eyes are tired behind her reading glasses, but there's an approving twinkle to them all the same. "Not enough people appreciate tea, in this degenerate modern age," she muses, as Earl Grey, brewed hot and strong, is poured first into one cup, and then into the next. A wave of her hand heralds the touch of telekinesis, and the tea tray lifts from the cart to settle on the desk between them, sugar, milk and lemon now in easy reach. For all the casualness of the gesture, there's a slight alertness to Jean's posture that wasn't there a moment before, eyes and mind intent on his reaction to it.
"Oh, I love Earl Grey... almost as much as Irish Breakfast," replies the interviewee, reaching for the cup even as the rest of his choices come to him in an apparently unassisted manner. His hand slows for a moment as he considers the implications of the phenomenon, his expression thoughtful rather than frightened. Then he reaches for the lemon, settling back into his chair. "My compliments, Dr. Grey," he says soberly. "I had not realised that this was to be more of an interview than I had thought."
"In addition to casual, I also have a fondness for getting the big questions out of the way first," Jean answers, folding her hands around her teacup, and launching no further impressions of the Sorcerer's Apprentice. (There are no brooms in the office anyways.) She relaxes slightly, settling back against her chair, as she notes that "To be frank, Xavier's School is in need of a new physics teacher, as our previous one's contract ran out in June. Unfortunately, simply being qualified isn't enough for us, as you might imagine. Hence my little test there." With a pause for thought and tea alike, she first adds a telepath's serving of sugar, in the form of four cubes of it, stirs, and then sips.
Now the man's expression turns guarded as he stirs his own tea, Geoff perhaps wondering how much the other really knows. After a moment, he responds, "I see. I had wondered why I was asked to interview for this position when I am sure there were many academically qualified applicants. Are all the teachers mutants here, then?" Since the cards are being laid out on the table, he figures, why not candor?
"To be frank, the other applicants with your level of experience didn't manage to pass the interview," Jean answers, although the frankness is marred by a momentary flash of a crooked grin, hinting at humour in some unshared memory. "We tend to have more mutant faculty than non, traditionally, since our current faculty roster is heavily drawn from the first graduating class of students, myself included, but we have people of every genetic spectrum here."
"I see," Geoff's brow rises slightly as he nods, perhaps a bit confused. "Well, I can see that you have my credentials already, and you know where I have been working up until the present time. You seem to know everything, in fact." A not completely upsetting fact, actually, since living alone in the city with his particular secret has not been an idyllic situation. "You have an amazing school here," he adds in an attempt to draw off some of the tension of finding out that this woman seems to know him uncannily well.
"Ah... not -everything-, Mr. Perry," Jean assures, with a brief little half-smile, in turn half-deprecating, half-reassuring. "Just what was in your C.V. and what a little search of public record could tell us. And while I am telepathic, I don't snoop. Thus," she sums up, with a lift of her teacup in a vague toast, "I don't actually know some very important things, such as why you're interested in teaching at Mutant High."
"Why I would be interested in teaching at...??" Geoff looks surprised for a moment as he digests everything Jean has dropped on him, including the telepathic part. Still, the last sentence is a bit enigmatic until his jaw suddenly drops open, his mind putting the pieces together. She doesn't know! His being considered for this position was a coincidence! He tries to pull his composure together, wondering how much was visible to the other already. Enough, he supposes, enough for the very perceptive doctor to piece things together.
"Oh," says Jean, with a brief touch of colour to her cheeks. "I'd assumed... I mean, I personally felt like the entire world heard after that state senator outed me, but I suppose that's a bit of a selfish viewpoint. Well, now you know, too," she sums up, concluding the bit of not-quite-babble with a little nod. "So, why would you be interested in teaching here?"
Geoff steeples his fingers together, considering the question for a moment before answering, "I had hoped to make a difference teaching those who needed my help the most. There is only so much I can do teaching inner city kids to appreciate the wonders of science." He hesitates before adding, "And I imagine I might be a better fit for you here than one might realise." Gently, he extends his hand towards the light streaming in through the window and the soft beams suddenly curve away from the spot on the floor and encircle his hand in soft radiance.
"I... see," says Jean, teacup caught 'twixt saucer and sip as her attention is caught by Geoff's own bit of showmanship. The pure gleam of Research Scientist blossoms in her eyes and curves the corners of her lips with appreciation, but, aware that there is a job she has to do, she refrains from gibbering questions at him along the lines of 'Omgwtfbbq, can you do it again?' Jean is not-quite-thirty-eight. She has -dignity-. "On that score, it -is- always beneficial to have another teacher on board who is in control of their abilities, and can thus demonstrate. What are your thoughts on the future of the mutant issue? What's your ideal world?"
Geoff manages a wry smile, "As in control as I have managed on my own." As the more serious questions follow, he takes a sip of his tea and hmms thoughtfully. "Well," he starts after a moment. "I would be more than happy to live in peace with the rest of the world, but I'm not sure that is going to happen anytime soon. I would say tempered optimism is my opinion, Dr. Grey. In the meantime, the children who go to this school, and hopefully others like it someday, will need all the knowledge and skills they can get to survive in that world." Bereft of concentration, the halo surrounding his other hand disapates into the air.
"The primary tenet of the Xavier's philosophy is of integration," Jean sums up, eyes going slightly inwards-focused, and absent as a result. She does eventually remember her teacup, though, and sets it back down on the saucer. "We do everything we can to give them the tools they need to do that. Education is a large part of that, paired with the equally important need for them to be in control of their abilities, rather than the other way around. This is more difficult than it sounds," she warns, with a slight tip of her chin. "Should we hire you, you'll be faced constantly with challenges and problems that there are no guide books written for yet. How would you handle the hypothetical situation of a student arriving whose skin secretes a contact poison?"
"Well," the other rejoins with a twinkle in his eye. "I imagine I would avoid ingesting said poison through my own skin just long enough to teach him or her physics." A moment of levity aside, he waves off his flippancy and says, "That is a difficult situation, Dr. Grey, one not easily answerable. I think our hypothetical mutant should know that he or she is not alone."
"An answer certainly safely within the bounds of a junior faculty member," Jean murmurs, lips pursed in a moment's thought. "And certainly effective, as far as it goes. Actual compensating for and understanding of the mutation is something that you would not normally have to come up with on your own, but if you wanted a theoretical exercise, there are ones in the books."
Geoff offers a nod in return, "Of that, I have no doubt. I can read the newspapers, Dr. Grey, and I'm well aware of what goes on in the world. I have been fortunate that my own genetic makeup has yet to prove dangerous to others, but not everyone can say that." He adds after another sip of the excellent tea, "What control I have over my own self has been self-taught, and hard won. If I receive this position, I believe I will learn as much from these students as they will from me."
"Well," Jean admits, once more easing back into her chair from where she'd slowly gotten herself to sitting up straight on the edge of it, "That's a reassuring beginning. Proof is in the pudding in both directions, however, so should we finish the interview round with you still at the top, would you be willing to consider a semester's contract work? Extended to a full year on a successful review, and longer-term should you pass the full year's."
"Of course. That is only sensible." Geoff manages to restrain his expression this time, keeping his academic calm to the fore. This interview has certainly been full of surprises, but also infused with a sense of hope and anticipation. He likes this smart, competant woman and the school seems an inspired place of learning for young minds, mutant or no.
"We do tend to have a bit of a high turnover rate with our staff who are coming to us with no previous ties," Jean admits, corner of her mouth crook'd. "But, if you'd like, I'll give you a small tour of the facilities. Incidentally, we do offer a certain amount of research space for our faculty members so inclined -- I did most of the lab work for my PhD downstairs."
Setting down his cup, Geoff rises to his feet and nods, "I would love to see more of this amazing school." At the mention of lab facilities, his smile brightens and he nods again. "That is one advantage I do not currently have in the city, Dr. Grey."
"Well, this way, then," Jean directs, eyes sparkling in mirrored delight. "We'll start from the bottom, and work our way up to the top floor and the faculty wing -- room and board is included, if you like. It helps make up for the fact that the salary is really not that special, as you'd have noted in the ad." And with this and other information-bits, off Jean leads, rising with a stretch of long legs and a swish of a neat black skirt. (Although it must be noted that the tour does not start in the -deepest- level of the basement. Black jets, uniforms and Danger Rooms can keep.)
Xavier's gets a new physics teacher. We predict trying to figure out some of his students' powers will make him cry very soon.
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Saturday, September 27, 2008, 12:46 PM
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=XS= Rec Room - Lv 1 - Xavier's School
This, my friends, is a place for people to come and relax. A wide screen television in one area of the room has collected mismatched and aging sofas and chairs around, from the 1940s by their solid design. Pale green wallpaper embossed with gold leaf patterns lightens the rich, dark grandeur of the rest of the main floor. Card tables have claimed space along the windows, but an air hockey table and fooseball table hold place of pride in the center. A storage cupboard by a small corner fireplace promises board games, puzzles and other delights, and a cushioned window seat offer an excellent spot for a nap.
[Exits : [G]reat [H]all, [C]lassroom and [A]rboretum, and [H]allway]
[Players : Tim ]
Tranquility is what Tim is looking for as well as heavy footsteps bring him into the Rec Room after a heavy session of powers training. Sweat beads drip down his brow, but with a half empty giant jug of water in his hand, he is on the mend. "Hey Dr. Grey." he greets friendly and happily on his path to the nearest seat to her window, but hushes himself quickly when his eyes then notice the book. He grins sheepishly, and whispers. "Sorry."
Jean's book is indeed eye-catching, of the explosions and spacecraft variety that speaks of the finest of space operas. When one is taking a break, after all, one really ought to take a -break-. "Oh, don't be," she assures Tim, louder than a whisper, but quiet in her calm. "Nothing that couldn't be interrupted by company. But how are you?" The question, doctor-standard, is paired with a similarly standard look at him, taking in the sweat and the water.
"Doing good, tired." Tim explains the obvious first as he wiggles, shuffles, twists, thumbs, and finally settles comfortably into his seat. "I managed a /whole/ tree today! It was... a small tree, but I got the whole thing, roots and all." This little accomplishment Tim wears as proudly as the Medal of Honor! Living things being /really hard/ for him. Tim's physical appearance, on even a casual observation, though reveals two 'not okays' that are recent, though it isn't uncommon to see small injuries on the kid. He is a boy after all. 1) A cut on the back of his left hand that has been bandaged, cleaned, and is on its way to becoming not a cut anymore. 2) A burn on the back of his right hand that has... not been treated at all.
"Congratulations!" Jean offers, her own smile immediate and effervescent, lighting her eyes as she looks at him. "It really does me good to see you enjoying stretching your abilities, Tim. We spend so much time on basic control that I sometimes worry we scare students off of the joy that just learning how to improve and refine and pick up a few party tricks can be." The burn hasn't escaped notice. While Jean's eyes stop their twinkling, however, she doesn't immediately speak on it. Let Tim have his praise unmixed.
And so, Tim is happy. Purely and uninhibited happy. This is... not a common occurrence for the kid! "I'm trying to have fun with it and see what I really can do. Nothing, uhm, bad or mean or nuthin', promise!" One at a time, Tim's shoes drop to the floor, and the kid curls his socked feet up and under him in the chair. They were already several inches from the floor, anyway. "The part thats kinda weird though is... learning to be sneaky. Kitty's helping, but... kinda feels weird."
"Is it weird because you're not used to it?" Jean wonders, head cocking to one side as she studies him, eyes leaving the burn and returning to his face as Curie chirps in her sleep, and burrows in deeper against Jean's denim-clad leg. "Or is it weird getting your head around it for other reasons?"
"I just feel kinda bad doing it. It just seems... dishonest." Tim explains as he wiggles in his seat again. He holds his bandaged hand up and squints like he does when he wants to turn something invisible... but nope. Too tired, it doesn't go. "But, like they keep telling me, what good is being /invisible/ if I keep tripping on things, and coughing, and breathing too loud, or spilling things, or sneezing, or... well, if everyone knows I'm there /anyway./ Heck, even Tobias catches me."
"What feels dishonest about it?" Jean wonders a little more, shifting to sit up rather than curl up, although she leaves her back pressed against sun-warmed glass.
"Well, like, to be sneaky there have to people who you are sneaky-ing against, or... whats the point, right? And they don't know I'm there, can't see me, and I... see them. I don't... go where I'm not 'sposed to or spy on people or nuthing. But..." Tim shrugs as he explains. Tim lifts his hand up to his head and taps it against his temple. "Like, I bet its like what you do, isn't it? You can hear what people are thinking but they can't hear you, well, unless you want them to."
"That's a lot what it's like, actually," Jean reflects, shifting again to ease a muscle out of its idea about knotting up. She doesn't seem precisely easy with herself, the shifting going on a little longer than it needs before she speaks again. "And although I don't go around mining people's secrets and listening where I'm not supposed to, I learned how all the same. Learning to be sneaky doesn't mean you have to be a spy any more than learning how to fire a handgun at a range means you have to shoot someone -- it's just developing a skill."
"I... did sneak on this one guy pretty good the other day." Tim explains a little more awkwardly this time, before a concerned eye is spared for Jean's squirming. "But... I kinda wish I didn't now. He was... kinda... I dunno. He... was an invisible person, too." As he explains, he shrugs. "He... wasn't nice like Norah."
"Oh?" says Jean, the now-familiar stirrings of protectiveness colouring her voice and shifting her posture to one of alert attention and no squirming at all. "Where did you run into this invisible man, Tim?"
"The cemetary." Tim answers, with a deep breath and an awkward smile pushing his friendly grin back quite a bit. "He was a photographer, I though, and he had this anti-CPAM shirt on, so I got curious and followed him a bit, all invisible and stuff, to see if I could do it. But then he... he invisiblededed one of the head stones! And I kinda... blew my cover." To this Tim is oddly ashamed, cringing when he mentions one of his failures. "But... he knew my name and... was kinda creepy."
"Wait... he knew your name?" Disappearing headstones and blown covers are not important to Jean. Bristling in defence of Tim is much more timely! "Did you get his?" she asks, after a moment's pause. "And was he some sort of reporter?"
"Uhm... I think it was... Devin, Darin, no, it was David." Tim explains shaking his head, "I don't think he was a reporter, I think... he was an artist kinda photographer, maybe. I don't really know much 'bout that stuff." Tim has seen this protective tone enough to recognize it quickly, and it has the feedback effect of making him a little more worried to boot. "He said... he said a terrorist told him my name. Sounds... kinda silly."
"David." The name repeated to herself, Jean closes her book with her thumb to mark the space, and gives a slow nod. Her next question is one that Tim can probably recite by heart by now: "Would you be able to recognize him if you saw him again? Would you be able to make a description? So we can make a sketch for the board?"
With a long sigh, Tim nods. "Yeah." he answers heavy hearted. "But... is that really needed this time? He was... kinda creepy, but..." He searches for thoughts and thoughts again, running the memory of the encounter through his head at least three times in high speed. "I'm just not sure, he did say something about the school blowing up, though."
"Tim, he knew your name and said he got it off a terrorist," Jean points out, chin tipped slightly. "That's not generally... I mean, if you don't want to make a big deal of this, it's still in an area where I can exercise some discretion," she admits, hands splaying out. (One with book attached.) "But if he's not just spinning a line of fantasy, he could be trouble. And if he is, then he's likely to wind up -in- trouble, if he runs around talking about terrorists and exploding schools to the casual passerby, in this atmosphere."
It's a repeat performance. Tim sighs again, and says "Yeah." in the same tone as before. But after a few moments, he nods several times and is more agreeable: "I'm not going to make friends with another bad person. I'm tired of people tricking me like that, it feels rotten. Really rotten."
"Did he make any other pushes to contact you?" Jean wonders, content with her victory and moving on to other aspects of the Creepy Guy. "If we're due to get another expensive computer showing up, I can arrange to have it stopped at the gate."
"He wanted to come visit... I told him we were really strict with visitors and stuff and that he might wanna call first." Tim answers a little embarrassed, his left hand reaching over to scratch the burn on his right hand. "I didn't know what to say, really. I'm really sorry if he's another one like before. I don't mean for it to happen, promise."
"I see... did you give him a number?" Jean wonders, losing the driven air in favour of something more thoughtful. "If you did, I could coax the phone system into having it ring through to my office. It sounds like he might think he'd enjoy a talk with me--" But the scratching catches her attention, and one hand reaches out to rest lightly on Tim's forearm. "Don't do that to yourself," she requests quietly.
"Hmm? Ok..." Tim asks a little confused as he looks down, but he does stop scratching. "I..." he continues, still confused as to why he isn't supposed to scratch, and then explains the phone number: "I told him to look up the number when he asked, I didn't give him the one to my room." He states this last bit, at least, as if he did something right.
"Scratching at a recent burn is a good way to introduce infection at worst, and scar it at best," Jean explains, fingers still light on his arm for a moment before she removes them back to her lap. "We should probably go downstairs and get that cleaned up -- how did you get it?" she wonders, before his explanation prompts a return of the warm smile of earlier. "And you did good on that," she confirms.
"Huh?" Tim asks again confused as he looks down at the burn with renewed interest. "I don't remember, I thought it was just a rash or I slept on it wrong or something." Tim explains, moving his other hand away from the burn entirely. "Showed up yesterday, I think."
"That's... hrm," says Jean, and rises, abandoning book and cat alike to nod towards the doors out. "Well, if you've showered since then, there's probably not likely to be much in the way of chemical residue left, but I can at least take a swab, to see if it was a chemical burn."
"Of /course/ I showered." Tim protests, in defiance of his hygiene (which isn't always the best, but hey!) With a large defeated breath Tim looks longingly at the TV and wiggles in his seat one last time before he stretches down and begins to wiggle his shoes back on. "So much for watching TV Land..." he half jokes as he wiggles out of his chair and then informs Jean: "It doesn't hurt or anything... but... I guess you know that."
"Oh, it won't take more than a couple minutes," Jean promises, vis-a-vis television, and with an apologetic crook of her mouth at the defence. "Commercial break, even. Honestly," she decides, "I'm just fussing. Go enjoy the TV, and I'm going to go get some work done."
"Alright, Dr. Grey." Tim answers a little apologetically for his protest, and looks longingly back at the comfortable spot he had. "I'll uhm, I'll stop by and let you look at it once I rest up a bit, ok?"
"Oh, don't worry about it," Jean assures. "Just... try and keep it covered and clean, while it heals. Especially with your decreased sensitivity to pain, you might not notice that it's injured worse right away."
See Tim. See Tim meet David. See Tim spooked. See Tim tell Jean. Tell, Tim, tell!
> (Cessily)'>
X-Men: Movieverse 2 - Saturday, September 27, 2008, 5:09 PM
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=XS= Gymnasium - Lv B2 - Xavier's School
Far more tame than the vexing challenges of the Danger Room, the school's Gymnasium is no less enormous. Some of the equipment is a bit unorthodox, but other than that it's a standard-issue gym, the floors mapped out with the designs for a basketball court (to suit the four hoops that flank every wall), although the walls are covered in hard rubber tiling. Small alterations to cater to the needs of occasionally out-of-control mutant powers. A set of punching bags, heavy and light, hang in one corner, surrounded by a sea of blue foam matting.
[Exits : [M]ain [H]allway and [L]ocker [R]oom]
Thumpthumpthump. The spacious gymnasium is fairly quiet on a saturday afternoon, perfect for the rather more appearance-conscious students. One of which currently jogs across the hard-wood floor, dressed in standard issue gym-uniform, Cessily gracefully leaps forward. Silver hands spread out in front of her as she lands upon them, doing a rather clean cartwheel. Always one for gymnastics, she leaps back to her feet, arms out at her sides, as though ending some elaborate routine, before quickly looking around the room for the next thing to attempt. She gently wipes her forearm across her forehead, a force of habit, considering she no longers sweats.
Jean is somewhat pensive this afternoon, watching a young gymnast quite unlike the other young gymnast she used to spot for. Dressed in official Xavier School sweats and a black tank top, she sits on one of the benches along the wall, back leaned against the cool white paint, as she cools down from her own earlier workout. "If you want to set up mats by the pommel horse," she suggests "They should be just inside the door of the storage closet."
Cessily turns around, facing her spotter and nodding. For a moment, her hands reach up behind her head, tightening her ponytail. "Right. Okay, its been a while since i've been on one of those. Should be a nice change of pace!" Cess is rather cheerful this afternoon, this is her element, after all. With a happy little hop, skip and jump, she rushes over to the closet and opens it up. After rummaging for some time, the metallic cheerleader pulls out one of the mats, dragging it across the floor and over to the horse, "Do you like gymnastics too?" She calls to Dr Grey, skipping back over to the closet to grab more mats.
"I've never actually taken it, myself," Jean admits, leaving Cessily to drag the mats all by herself, but watching her progress to see if she really should need assistance. (It's good exercise for the teen. Really.) "I opted for horseback riding, piano lessons and dance lessons, for my part of proper WASP girlhood."
Hefting another large mat across the floor, Cess hardly seems to have any issues with dragging them. "I tried to ride a horse when I was a bit younger. I fell off and got a bleeding nose." Reminisces the young mutant, shrugging her shoulders. "It kinda put me off and I never got back into the saddle." Once all the mats are in place, she smiles, patting at the side of the gymnastic equipment, nodding her head. "I have no problem with the easier to control version of a horse, though" Jokes she, grinning widely.
"They say it takes ten falls to make a good rider," Jean quotes some unknown equestrian sage. "So just think of it as being ten percent of the way there already." Tiring of her bench, she rises, stretches, and begins a slow circuit of the gym's outer perimeter, voice rising and falling as directed by the distance. "But I'll leave you to your pommel horses -- I think I'm too old now to pick it up."
Cessily grabs ahold of the handles atop the pommel horse, climbing on top of it and straddling it. "I guess I was never meant to be a rider then." She shudders at that quote, raising her eyebrows. "I'd hate to fall off nine more times. Yeah, one was definately enough." She starts her little routine, fairly basic at first, both hands on the large rings, lifting herself on just her arms and gently rising and lowering up and down. "You can't be that old Dr Grey. You should give it a go sometime. Its a nice way to relax." After peering around for a moment, she grins. "Oh hey, do you have a portable springboard here?" She asks, calling to the other end of the hall, where her spotter wanders.
"Of course, a lot of people take their ten falls while they're still small enough to ride ponies," Jean muses, walk-walk-walking still. "Farther to fall... and check in the storage area again," she bids. "We got a pretty decent spread of equipment on account of Jubilee."
Gracefully, Cessily leaps back off the horse, meandering her way over to the closet again. "Jubilee?" She asks, before her eyebrows raise as she remembers where she saw that name. "Oh, Jubilation Lee?" She asks, frowning somewhat. "I remember watching that on TV." She says, the chirp gone from her voice for a moment. "I'm sorry." She offers, wandering into the closet and hoisting out one of the boards, carrying it above her head to avoid scratching the floor.
"She'd be glad to see them still being used," is Jean's answer, starting out quiet enough that the first couple words are almost lost before she thinks to speak with a louder voice. Completing the circle back to the benches, she sits again, only to wonder "Do you need any help setting up?"
Cessily is straining a touch with the board, super-strength not one of her strong points. But she does seem to have it almost in place next to the horse. "I think i've got it!" She calls, carefully lowering it to the ground. She seems rather more worried about denting the floor than carrying the heavy object. "It has been a long time since i've vaulted onto a horse, though." She calls, shrugging her shoulders. "If you wanna come over here in case I fall on my butt, i'll understand. I should be fine." Confirms she, before wandering a little down from the board, stretching herself to prepare for a leap onto the horse.
"I trust you," Jean assures, but rises from the bench to wander over all the same, hands in the pockets of the grey sweats. "And just remember, if something goes horribly wrong, the medical bay is just down the hall." That Jean would have to make things up as she went along, should something medical arise... well, that's just par for the course, isn't it?
After stretching her silvery limbs for a while, Cessily grins a little at that, nodding her head. "I don't think I have any bones to break. But, yeah, always good to know." She calls, before quickly running across the gym towards the little board. Then, with a graceful little leap, she springs off the board and into the air. Things seem to go in slow motion from here on for the girl, her hands missing the ring she attempts to cartwheel. They flail at it, fingers lengthening as she tries to grab it, hurtling over the horse upside-down. As she starts to move back down through the air, her head bonks against the horse, Cessily rolling forwards and flopping off the end of the horse and into the ground. The most unusual part of the little gymnastic mishap, though, is that the girl doesn't hit the ground with a thud, but with a large splash. A pool of silver exactly where she should've landed, gym gear gently floating on the surface.
"Cessily?" The screech of Jean's running shoes on the polished wood is sharp and sudden, as she skids to avoid sliding right through the silver puddle that has now eaten her student. "Cessily! Are you--" 'All right' is not said, thanks to late-breaking common sense. "Um. Think loudly if you can hear me, all right?"
Curious ripples and shapes move across the surface of the puddle, as though something is swimming below the surface. << Ohgodohgodohgod. >> comes the rather panicky thought-response. Thoughts rushing through the liquified girl at a thousand words per second. More patterns spread across the reflective surface, a very basic hand shape rising for a moment, before blooping back into the liquid. << I can here you. I can yes. Hello? I don't want to be a puddle. Hello? >> She thinks, despite having no obvious head to house those quick, scared thoughts.
<< Oh, thank God. >> says Jean's mind, eschewing spoken work in favour of the more direct connection of thought. << You're still attached to your body, that's good. Now we just need to get you back to yourself again, yes? >>
<< I'm really sorry. I banged my head and I don't know what happened >> She explains, the surface of the puddle rippling again, trying to form fingers again, silvery towers rising from the pool and landing on the mat, before melting back into the liquid. << Yes. Yesyesyes. I am trying.>> She cries, Cessily having quite the hard time calming herself. Panic even clear in her internal voice.
<< OK, >> says Jean, her own presence calm now that she's felt more familiar footing beneath metaphorical toes. << The first thing I want you to do is to calm yourself. Let your mind drift, >> she directs, as the soothing spirals of empathic suggestion weave themselves about her words. << Focus on an image, any image. Think of your favourite summer weather, and focus on the memory of how it feels on your skin. >>
Despite the splashing, the pool of silver has stayed completely solid, no drops spilling on either side of her. Her voice doesn't come through at first, the little ripples seeming to gain a bit more mass behind them as she tries to calm herself. << Okay >> Cessily manages, visualising her old home and bedroom, remembering the feel of the sunshine creeping into the room and waking her up in the morning. Indeed, as she steadies her racing mind, a set of long, silver fingers emerge from the puddle. They raise up, followed by a hand, resting on the outer edge of the puddle, staying solid. It give the impression of someone slowly climbing out of a hole. << I am thinking of home. >> She explains, not entirely sure how far Dr Grey's abilities extend into reading her thoughts.
<< Good, >> Jean encourages, thoughts warmth and sunlight itself. << Very good. Focus on what your entire body feels like, when it's warm and strong and well. Like when you've just finished exercising, and you can feel yourself from your head to your toes. >> Optimistically, she moves out of the way of the hand-and-puddle.
Long silver fingers reach outwards, another hand joining its mirrored twin on the other edge of the puddle, each emerging extremity causing the width of the puddle to gently pull in towards itself, mass shifting to and fro. Cessily keeps her brain focused, imagining spreading her hands above her head fingers wriggling as the sunlight touches them, the silvery hands lifting on emerging arms and replicating the motion. A large round object appearing in the centre of the puddle, the liquid shifting in color as those long red strands start to emerge. << Its working I think >> She confirms, feeling rather mellow as the nostalgic sensations pass through her mind.
<< Exactly what I was hoping for, >> Jean confides, with another burst of warmth over the light mental link. << You're doing amazingly well, Cessily. Keep it up. >>
Cess stretches in her mind, clambering from her bed sleepily and stretching her shoulders. The puddle pulls in even more as she slowly starts to rise from it. Her head appears completely, a rather odd sight indeed, consider it forms sans features. As it gently rises upwards, they start to slowly fill out, neck lifting from the liquid as shoulders appear, her arms now joined to something. Silver lips appear, then part gently, Cessily's internal voice coming out on the outside now. "I can feel it. Its like swimming, I just need to pull myself out.." She says, peering down at the puddle with those pupil-free eyes, shoulders lifting completely from the water, the girl carefully pulling herself from the liquid, hands resting on either side of the diminishing pool, for balance. "It feels so strange" She whispers.
"Well, now that we know you can pull yourself back out of it," Jean muses, slipping back to spoken word as Cessily becomes capable of it again, "I imagine it's something we can work into practice for you... although preferably without falling off a pommel horse!" she concludes, with a flash of humour. "But that's it. Mind over matter... you literally think, therefore you are."
Cessily sprawls forwards across the ground, pulling herself out of the puddle. Its a rather odd sight indeed, the pool finally seperating into two smaller ones as her legs reform. She crawls for a second, before clambering up onto all fours, smiling and peering back at herself. "Yeah." A moment of horror dawns on her, the girl quickly squirming underneath a mat as she realises that her clothes didn't liquify with her. Yanking them under and quickly pulling them on. If only metal could blush. "Shit." She mutters, before covering her mouth. "I'm sorry. I don't normally swear."
"It seems a circumstance where a little profanity is appropriate," Jean assures, and offers Cessily a hand, and her clothing. "I'll go lock the doors for a moment if you want to make a sprint for the locker room."
"Thanks" Comes the rather sheepish reply, Cess taking those clothes and covering herself up. "I doubt they make clothing that can disentergrate with the wearer." She says, smiling a little. Then, she waits for her opportunity to run to the locker rooms, a finger stretching out to scoop up her hair bobble from under the horse. Aside from the splash incident, she doesn't seem injured at all from her head-bash.
Once Cessily has skittered into the locker room, Jean takes another pace of the gym, giving the teen time to get herself back as nature didn't make her. Eventually, she ends up by the locker room doors, sitting once again on a bench.
Cessily emerges a few minutes later, disheveled but definately clothed now. She wanders over to Dr Grey, smiling brightly. "Look.. uh, thanks a lot. I really didn't think that would happen again. I really appreciate you helping me out of it." Musing, she steps out into the hallway. "I bet i've got a medical file like /this/ thick now" Gestures she, holding her hands apart. "I have to go be a bit embarassed in my room for a bit now, make sure everything is back in place. Thank you Dr Grey!" She calls, before quickly skipping off.
Some days, Jean's life is very strange.